Okay.

Don't panic.

I'm sure there's no real injury taking place in my baby-making station. It just feels as though I've managed to sterilize myself forever thanks to the self-inflicted ulcers.

I try to engage in even-keeled breathing as I walk into my final class of the day where I secretly plan on tracing out Cruise's body in lieu of the relic they have posing for his birthday suit pictorial. I don't pay much attention to the women.

I'm hoping at some point technique will be integrated into the lessons, but I'm guessing that's not today since I spot Professor Webber near the back toking off a hookah. God, I hope there's something legal floating around in that oversized bong of hers.

I'm still hopped up on my exchange with "Professor Elton." And that syllabus entailed quite a laundry list of public facilities - the library, the staff lounge - the tower.

Blair gives a friendly wave, and I head on over.

"Saw you this morning in the coffee shop," I say, dropping my book bag, and a myriad of loose papers vomit out. Gah! Just the thought of bending over and dealing with it sets my nether regions on fire. Blair starts to scoop things up for me. "Don't worry, I'll get it in a second."

The two newest victims to be inaugurated in Webber's exclusive nudist for hire ring strut out of the makeshift closet, clutching at the signature purple robes, and oh my God, they're ancient! A series of low-lying gasps erupt once they drop trou, sort of like it did with Cruise, but well, for entirely different reasons. Honest to God, there's a crypt keeper out there somewhere who is not doing his freaking job.

Their bodies are a strange hue of grey, and they have more folds of skin than a litter of Shar-Pei puppies. Their limbs have odd bruising on them, and their gnarled fingers are nothing but skin over bone, green and purple with blooms of yellow interspersed. It's safe to say they've taken decomposing and turned it into a performance piece.

"So what did you say you were studying again?" Blair scoots her bench into mine with a reserved sense of calm, as if we didn't just bear witness to a double reanimation. I totally envision two empty caskets with the words "flight risk" slapped across the front. "I set out your papers for you." She points up at my easel.

"Thanks." Blair is such a nice person. I can totally see her hanging out with Lauren, Ally, and me. I can't believe how fantastic everything is in my life now. "I'm studying boys," I whisper. "One boy in particular."

"Oh?" Her dark eyes round out. "It's not Mr. Glad to See You, is it?" She gives a knowing laugh. "That was wild, by the way."

"That would be him - and, believe me, he's very, very wild." My body experiences a private summer as a Cruise inspired heat wave takes over. "Especially in bed," I whisper that last part so low it's almost inaudible.

"I thought you said you were a virgin?" She snaps it out as if I misrepresented my citizenship in the land of Not-So-Wholesome Milk and Money, A.K.A Garrison. "I mean, you implied it. It's a big virtue, so I thought it was pretty cool and stuff."

"Well, I was." I pinch a quick smile. "But I'm not anymore. He's a god, so how could I resist. You did see him, right?" It comes out more fact, less question.

"Oh, it was 'hard' to miss." She glances down and sweeps the floor with a look of irritation. "I tried to save it once, and it all went haywire."

"I'm sorry." I touch my chest appalled by the fact I'm inadvertently rubbing my perfect boyfriend in her face when it's obvious she's coming off some big emotional breakup. "I'm sure your Mr. Right will walk through the door any day now."

She glances up and her eyes widen; a villainous smile twitches on her lips. "So he will."

I follow her gaze and spot Cruise sharing a few brief words with Professor Webber. He looks visibly rattled as he speeds in my direction.

I bolt to his side, still out of breath from our erotic "in class" encounter.

"What's going on?"

"My sister called." His face reduces to an ashen shade. "She says there's some kind of emergency back at the house. I need to take off."

"I'll come with," I say, happy to abandon an entire hour of geriatric studies.

I snatch up my book bag and run out the door with him.

The snow molds over the hills, smooth and sweet, like a Valentine. The world is lost in the blue and purple hues of late afternoon but the closer we get to home, there's a caustic, amber glow that casts blinking shadows over the horizon and my heart seizes. Everything was going so well and now there's danger. A siren goes off in the distance as it screams its way over. It's almost as if the cruel world were whispering that this fairytale I had embroiled myself in is too good to be true. And deep down inside, I sensed this all along. I can see the handwriting on the proverbial wall - in the snow banks as they clap in reds and blues, even the wind blows a little harder here as the evergreens scold me with their needle-like protrusions. They all say the same thing. Tragedies occur, even here. This place wasn't special - neither was I.

Face it, Cruise and I probably stand as much of a chance as my mother and her revolving door relationships.

When we finally arrive at the Elton Bed and Breakfast, we're horrified to find a small army of paramedics and fireman have overrun the property.

"Shit." Cruise dips into the windshield disbelieving. "Molly said it wasn't that big a deal."

I want to say, that's because she's got a forked tongue, but don't. I bite the inside of my cheek instead, as we take in the melee.

"Jeez," I say as they pull a stretcher out of the wide mouth of the ambulance.

Cruise and I speed our way over. I've never been to the bed and breakfast before. I've sort of been behind the scenes, literally.

The Victorian style building, with its sunny disposition, looms larger than life as we barrel past the litany of emergency crew workers.

Molly straggles outside, looking frightened out of her mind.

Cruise snatches her by the shoulders. "What happened? Where's Mom?"

"She's inside. She fell."

Cruise races past her, and we follow.

At the base of the entry, sits his poor mother, howling in pain as several EMTs struggle to land her on a gurney. She lets out a deafening bellow as they count to three and swing her just the way my brother used to maneuver me before throwing me in the pool.

"I'm okay." She clutches at Cruise, digging her freshly manicured nails in his flesh like she's totally not. "Fell from the top, lucky I didn't damn near kill myself. Just twisted an ankle, that's all."

"You could've broken your neck," Cruise says, glancing up at the uniformed technician to affirm his spine-snapping theory.

"You never know" - the EMT ratchets up the gurney, and Sam lets out a riotous cry - "X-rays might show exactly that."

Cruise, Molly, and I follow the ambulance to a hospital situated by the cape. We sit in a waiting room for hours as the doctors assess the damage.

Cruise sits on the couch hovering over his laptop while Molly flips through an old issue of People. But it's the view outside that captivates me, casts its spell over me and makes me linger. From the large picture window, you can see the Atlantic seize against the icy shore. A blanket of fog penetrates the vicinity as the moon slices through its shallow curtain, but you can still make out the jagged shoreline as it illuminates through the mist. The whitecaps glow as they release against the sand in a fit of sensual delirium.

I had lived all my life near the ocean and never witnessed such magic, such brazen prowess exhibited by the stormy sea. The anxious waves thrust their hips against the shore, roaring as they push deep into the pliable sand until it smooths into submission. The water trembles over her tawny expanse until it ejaculates all of its foaming affection, reducing itself to a whisper. The waves roll back into themselves in a bionic rush, just to repeat the effort. Cruise is the sea, insatiable and hungry, all whispers and roars.

Molly creeps up beside me while Cruise continues to work diligently on his thesis. I can't help but give a private smile. I feel like a leading character in a book he's writing.

"It's almost time," Molly sings it low and mean like a bully. "A week and a half and we're good to go." She pulls at one of her blond curls and lets it spring back into shape.

"Good to go for what?" I feel a threat coming on like a cold.

"You know..." Her eyes bug out as if I should finish the sentence. She plucks at the pendant dangling from her necklace, inadvertently showing off her chipped black polish. Looks like Molly steers clear of the Not-So-Happy Hair and Nail Salon, and for good reason - "skunk" isn't exactly the latest hair craze.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I can hardly walk, let alone recall anything from our last encounter. God - how I'd like to forget our last encounter.

"The pill." She elongates the word as if it had special meaning, but I'm still not picking up the psychotic connection. Come to think of it, I'd much rather Molly go skunk than skank. Why did I ever drive her to the free clinic to begin with?

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." I curl my L in the same manner. I wouldn't put it past little Ms. Manipulation to fake some conversation just to make me feel senile.

She draws back with horrified surprise, and her mouth squares out as if she's truly shocked by something. "Did you have sex with my brother?"

"Shh!" I give a little spastic dance on my tiptoes. The last thing I want Cruise to hear is Molly and I shooting the sexual breeze. It's all kinds of wrong for me to be talking to his little sister about S-E-X.

I dart a look over to Cruise, who sits blissfully unaware of the fact I'm busy discussing pills and coital encounters, with, of all people, his bratty little sister.

"Sorry," I whisper, "that kind of classified information just might get me arrested." I'm totally alluding to the role-playing game Cruise initiated and give a private smile over to the sexy sheriff himself.

"You did!" She belts out the accusation, probing me with a hostile stare.

"Keep it down!" I grit it through my teeth.

"You know what that means?" She bares her fangs with a haughty little smile.

"No." I panic. "What does it mean?" It so doesn't mean anything. The only "mean" thing around here is Molly.

"It means we'll be right back here in less than nine months, dumbass." She jets out her leg in a defiant stance, awaiting my reaction to her oh-so-vague declaration. "Unless, of course, you were pulling double duty and made sure my poor sucker of a brother put a hat on it."

I take in a quick breath. Back here in nine months? Hat?

He didn't wear a hat!

He didn't wear a hat!

I fight the sudden urge to run in a spastic circle as all out hysteria sets in and I'm not entirely sure why.

"Weren't you listening during orientation?" She rocks back on her heels in disbelief. "Those stupid little pills are worthless."

Dear God! Why am I such a dumbass? A question, I'm sure, Cruise will be asking in the very near future.

"No, I wasn't listening during orientation. I was too floored over the fact you weren't getting a refill, remember?"

She scoffs at my gynecological misstep. "The pills are worthless until after the first solid month. You may as well be downing tic-tacs. So, I guess I'm going to be an aunt." She shoots an angry look over at Cruise as if somehow his penis just took down all three of our lives.

"You are not going to be an aunt." I spit the words out, quiet as possible. "Cruise and I are responsible adults who understand the importance of basic protection. I also happen to know that seventeen is way too young to be experimenting with pills and penises. So, steer clear, missy, or I'm so going to sic your brother on that hypersexual boy toy of yours. And, trust me, there is nothing more embarrassing to bring to prom than one of your own relatives. Don't think for a minute he'd ever let you out of his sight again."

I try to bolt from her

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